His Wicked Intentions
by TallTwistedTales
Summary: After many years of being a living fear donor to his own creations, Pitch Black is weak. Hell-bent on seeking revenge on The Guardians but lacking in strength, he commits himself to easy prey; injecting small doses of fear into the easily scared, allowing his powers to regenerate. However, it is only when he finds a familiar face that his plan for revenge is swung into motion.
1. Chapter 1

Consciousness resumed. Aching eyelids stuttered open. Pitch Black gasped in a shaking breath that arched his back, lifting his stomach off the dry, cold floor. His body convulsed and he coughed out the dirt and dust that invaded his lungs. He was meant to be the king of nightmares, striking fear in all he met. He lifted his face off the filthy ground, the grit still embedded in his grey skin and sticking to the fresh blood from the deep gash on his cheekbone. He was meant to be the victor. His body eased back onto the ground as his breathing settled into shallow reluctant breaths. His victory over The Guardian's was meant to be grand, it was meant to be glorious. He slowly, painfully, rolled himself onto his back, the marrow in his bones screaming out their protest. His head pounded as if someone was taking a bludgeon to his skull. It wasn't meant to be like this.

It was now he lay in this dark, empty place that a sinking realisation crawled in through the pores of his skin.

He had failed.

Utterly.

Dismally.

Ultimately.

His best wasn't good enough. It wouldn't be the first time. Pitch snorted in indignation, only to find pain in the sensation of sand grating the inside of his head. He heaved his body up to support himself on his elbows. He didn't hold the position for long; his throbbing muscles gave up the fight and he found himself thumping to the ground once again. The nightmares were gone: gorged on the fear he had allowed The Guardian's to infect him with. He allowed himself an animalistic snarl of distain. He found that over his years of constant torture his fear had been drained away, replaced by rage. It had begun small at first, nestling itself in Pitch's mind while his Fearling's were still feasting upon this terror. The anger had made itself comfortable, and then it had multiplied within the folds of his mind like bacteria in a loathsome, unclean place. How long had he been down in this damned lair, once refuge, now turned prison? Just how many years had he been subject to this torment? Over a decade now. It had to be.

Pitch's breath hitched in his throat as his thin lips curled into an ugly, animalistic snarl befitting the monster that hid under children's beds at night. As long as there was blood in his veins and breath in his lungs he'd make The Guardian's pay; one way or another he would make them pay for what they had done to him. The hatred that they had given him would fuel the fire that would make them pay. His bubbling fury pushed him to his feet, numbing the pain as he seethed, fists clenched tight at his sides as he swayed slightly on his feet. Drunk with rage, he soon found himself crawling back to the surface through the same hole he was dragged into by his minions. Dirt dug in between his broken nails as he hauled himself upwards, blackening them like burnt tree stumps as his tongue found the gap between his molars reminding him of the white gravestone the fairy had uprooted. He continued his ascent, for if angels fall then surely demons must rise.

Silver light. A cold breeze. The sound of wind teasing the branches stripped of leaves. Pitch crawled up onto solid ground and collapsed onto his back. He opened his eyes and was greeted by the sight of the moon meeting his gaze. He laughed a weak, humourless laugh. "Didn't think you'd be seeing me for a while, did you, Manny?" The dazed smirk on Pitch's face fell. Of course. The Man In The Moon never spoke to him, not since he the night he had first became Pitch Black. _Fine, be that way, _he inwardly thought as he smoothed his hands over the shadows at his sides. He waited to sink into the shadows, for that familiar pull like a thousand tiny hands tugging at his clothes and skin. Nothing happened. He felt a tiny jolt of fear that he quickly smothered lest the Fearling's smell him out. He tried again. Nothing happened. In place of fear, he elected anger to take centre stage.

There was a quick belt of noise, meant to be a laugh. He had had his powers drained after years of being a living fear donor to his own creations. He was weak. It could take months, or more likely years to grow as powerful as he had before his battle with The Guardians. Revenge would have to come later, but for now, he needed to build up his energy, make people believe again, spread the fear. He would start of small, and then work himself up.

Ideas didn't light up in Pitch's head as they did in others'. Instead, tiny black holes like little black pennies began to consume all the light around them, manifesting into a dark spot in his brain. The ghost of a smile flitted across his angular features. Oh yes, Pitch had an idea.

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A/N: Hey everyone! This is the first chapter of my first ever fanfiction story (yay!) and I hope you all enjoyed it. Apologies for my British spelling if you're an American reader. Ah, don't you just love Pitch as a character? Feel free to drop a review, they'd mean a lot to me and I'd be happy to hear your thoughts and opinions on this or anything you'd like me to add into this story sometime down the line. Constructive criticism is very much welcome. Have a great day (or night)!


	2. Chapter 2

Pitch found himself walking alone through the dark woods. Walking. _Like some sort of common peasant_ he thought bitterly to himself as he heard the cold ground crunching beneath his feet. This was not The Nightmare King's idea of fun. He had been walking a long time, but he knew it had to be around here somewhere. He hadn't been gone _that_ long…had he? Just as he started to doubt himself, he began to spot square amber eyes in the distance: windows. He found something comparable to excitement stir in his gut as he quickened his steps, approaching the grey building with a spark of anticipation in his molten gold and silver eyes. Even from this distance there seemed to be a gentle but steady buzz of fear emanating from the building tucked away in the woods.

It was Burgess State Hospital, or as some people would call it, Burgess's "Nut-House" or the "Funny-Farm". There was a section of the hospital that was especially for the children: children who had already lost a grip on reality. It wouldn't take too long convince _them_ of his presence. Was it cruel to torment the tormented? Yes. Of course it was. But Pitch didn't care. The place would be flooded with the sharp, shrill shrieks of children in no time. In fact, Pitch pondered if he should try to scare some of the weaker minded adults as well just for a good kick.

Pitch felt the years of tension in his muscles ease up, and he gritted his teeth at the pleasurable pain that this entailed. This was all he needed: to be back in his element. Pitch Black didn't _feel fear_, he _manufactured it._

Using his limited strength, he drifted through the walls like an inky phantom leaving behind remnants of unease and unrest until he reached a door that caught his eye. He read the sign on the door with an arched brow.

_**Patient:**__ Daisy A. Matthews_

_**Doctor:**__ R.B Towle _

_**Doctor's assistant:**__ S.C Bennett_

He pressed a large, grey hand to the door. The girl was awake. And she was afraid. Her fear gave him the sensation of slipping into warm water. With a dark smirk he casually walked through the closed door. He took a quick, uninterested look around. The room was pretty bare; a few crayon drawings on the white walls, a pile of stuffed toy animals on the small child's table…a white bed with a little girl shaped lump in the centre. The lump was shivering, and quietly sniffling while she wept as quietly as she could, afraid that someone or something might just be listening. With a cruel chuckle, Pitch settled himself into the corner opposite the bed and next to the door. This would be easy. Gently, he began to tap the wall in a steady rhythm with his long index finger: _tap tap, tap tap, tap tap._ The girl's ears, obviously tuned to listen out for any danger, existing or non-existing, real or imaginary, must have heard him for she let out an audible whimper. Pitch continued to tap, picking up the speed: _tap tap, tap tap, tap tap._ The girl called out a name "Miss Bennett?" she squeaked, half praying half hoping that she was just knocking the door in a very odd fashion. The tapping continued, drumming itself into her fragile mind. With a heart crushing realisation, she noticed that the knocking wasn't coming from the outside of her door like she had hoped. Whatever it was, it was tapping from the inside of her bedroom wall. "Where are you?"

"I'm in the corner." Pitch answered in his soft menacing voice, grinning manically as he waited for the inevitable. The girl screamed, and the sound was music to Pitch's ears. Oh how he had longed to hear the beautiful symphony of screaming again. And her fear? Well, her fear was delectable.

"Miss Bennett! Miss Bennett!" she screamed at the top of her tiny lungs. Pitch heard a heavy door swing open followed by the rapid footsteps of a person running. In no time, the door swung open.

The woman who had interrupted his fun cut off Pitch's smirk dead with a razor blade. She had to be at least twenty years old, _at least_. She hit the lights on and scooped the frightened blanket girl up into her arms, leaving her to keep her quilted comfort wrapped around her body like a caterpillar while she cooed "Daisy, Daisy it's alright, I've got you." The woman was the Doctor's assistant, no doubt at all. A tiny, shaking hand reached out of the blanket slowly to stroke the young woman's beautiful, long blonde hair. Daisy loved the way she wore it down so that she and the other girls could play with it. "What's wrong, Daisy? What happened?" she asked, almond shaped emerald eyes swimming with worry.

"There's a man in the corner." Daisy croaked without breath. The blonde's searching eyes glared into the corner. She looked right at him, right into his stunned, furious eyes, but right through him. "There's no one here but us, Daisy, you can trust me."

"But he was right there! I heard him, he was right there."

"It was only a bad dream, Sweetie. Do you think if someone was here I'd ever let them hurt you?" The blanket child shook her head from under the blankets.

The woman continued whispering gentle words to the girl she rocked in her arms. Pitch was no longer listening; he was far too busy seething. How could it have been _that_ long? How could The Guardian's have left him to his miserable fate for _that long_? It couldn't be her. It couldn't. But it was, it simply had to be. Pitch approached her to get a closer look, like a vulture hopping towards a sleeping creature to check if it was dead. Yes. It appeared that the little mite of a girl he had known had blossomed into a young, aspiring, intelligent woman. She was indeed Sophie Bennett.

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Sorry it took me a while to actually getting round to uploading this chapter, I took a mini trip to the seaside and couldn't find the time. I _was_ touching up the long list of imperfections in this chapter on the half four (in the Godforsaken morning) train out of Wales and planned to use the free Wi-Fi on said train to upload. I had internet connection for all of five minutes before it died on me, so apologies guys.

So Sophie's finally made an appearance, and you'll be seeing a lot more of her next chapter when I explain exactly what she's been up to while Pitch was having his ass handed to him by the Fearlings and how she and Jamie have been getting along with The Guardians despite being adults. Stay tuned folks and thanks for reading and reviewing!

**SamanthaSamma** I'm so glad you liked it! And it's been a tad longer than Pitch first thought ;) Although years are pretty trivial things to immortals, years of torture however are still quite infuriating to say the least, and let's face it Pitch is the kind of guy who'd flip a table over milliseconds.

**InfamousTricks**, I'm happy you're looking forward to the evolution of this fic because I've got a shed ton of ideas for it!


	3. Chapter 3

Sophie Bennett had an inbuilt curiosity. Ever since the day she could crawl, she had the spirit of an explorer who had a penchant for getting herself lost, much to the despair of her parents and protective older brother, Jamie. Her curiosity was only strengthened by her meeting with The Guardians. In retrospect, it was her curiosity which had driven her to wander eagerly through the magical portal North's snow-globe had opened, the pretty colours and shapes enticing the playful two-year-old to explore. But curiosity was not the only dominate attribute of her personality. Thanks to her favourite Guardian, E. Aster Bunnymund, she had been filled with a wonderful amount of hope to add the recipe mixture. She was endlessly fascinated, just like Bunny, at how even when all seems lost and all is black and cold, life can still prevail. In fact, all of The Guardian's had influenced her in some way: even her pretty bird-fairy-lady had given her a keen interest in memories and their importance in even the lives of grown-ups.

Bunnymund himself was ferociously proud of his influence, as he was of the fact that he was obviously her favourite Guardian. The Pooka couldn't seem to hide the look of pride and joy on his furry features when she had told him sleepily, lying in his arms after a fun day playing at the warren, "I love hop hoppy bunny." After all the years he had spent instilling hope in children, he had forgotten what it was actually like to interact with one, especially what it was like to actually _love _one. And even as she grew up, this never changed. At first, the Guardian's couldn't help but feel anxious while she and Jamie were growing up. After growing so close to the children, they were terrified of them waking up one day and disregarding them as nothing but a dream; as a fantasy conjured by their imaginative, innocent minds. But time passed, and they watched the children grow from playful children to awkward adolescents to young adults. And they never stopped believing. Never.

Bunnymund never forgot the moment Sophie had told him she planned to be a child psychiatrist. His Sophie: a _doctor, _giving hope to children no less. In fact, both of the Bennett children went into working with children, Jamie having the identity of the "cool" teacher at the local high school. It was all The Guardians could have ever hoped for.

When Sophie got her work placement at Burgess State Hospital she was ecstatic. She didn't care about the long shifts she had to work, spotted across the whole week in between her Med-School lectures, she was simply over-joyed that she actually got to work with children in her chosen field. It was not something that many 19-year-olds could boast. She couldn't thank her personal tutor enough for finding her the job opening. "We wouldn't usually allow second-years to go for such a challenging placement, but after this?" He had said, sweeping his arms over his desk littered with Sophie's finest work, "You deserve it."

It had been a year since she started work, and even still the novelty had yet to wear off.

Sophie allowed her mind to drift back to the present, an absent minded smile still pulling at her lips. She sat in the office alone on her favourite wheelie-chair (_Doctor Towle's _favourite wheelie-chair) and pushed her arms above her head in an all-consuming stretch. Her mouth gaped into a wide yawn, giving her the impression of a sleepy tigress. She was completely at ease now she had gotten little Daisy back to bed.

The sight of Sophie disgusted Pitch, who lurked in the corner of the room like an unwanted shadow. "I hate you…" he muttered his complaint under his breath with a deep scowl, "…I hate you so very much." Eighteen years of torment, eighteen years of nothing short of agony, eighteen years of his power being ripped out of him; the punishment he had suffered for wanting to be believed in. Was he angry? Yes. Did a fire blaze within his veins like an unquenchable inferno? Undeniably. And yet, it seemed the flames were starved of oxygen, unable to rage at their full potential. Something was missing: a purpose, a direction, a plan. An intention.

His weary eyes spiked daggers at the girl gently spinning in circles atop the chair. He couldn't look at her any longer, she only proved to amplify the growing feeling of desolation that threatened to creep in through his skin. He slinked out of his corner and into the empty corridors with an empty mind and an empty heart. He found himself walking back through the woodland, his feet carrying him away to an unknown destination. The pulses of fear through the air got weaker. He had expected that the further he travelled from that accursed place the better he would feel, but something didn't feel right. With only one step, Pitch let out a sharp yelp of pain as gravity seemed to intensify and he crumpled in a heap to the ground. He, steadily, raised himself up on his elbows, face down as heavy coughs jolted his ribcage. Once it appeared the worst was over, Pitch glared steadily at the floor. A gruesome splatter of black blood dappled the autumn leaves. An awareness of his sudden situation mocked him from the back of his mind like an unimpressed theatre-goer slouching in the very back seats: he couldn't stray too far from fear as he had no energy left within him; he was weak, he could only live off the fear he could gather from the atmosphere. Without it? Well, without it _this _happened.

Pitch's gaze settled on his blood on the ground. It took _a lot_ to injure a spirit in this way. Something occurred to Pitch in that moment, something he had never dreamt of thinking of before. To what extent was he immortal? Where did immortality end and mortality take hold? Was it possible for…could he…could he die?

A soft, sinister noise interrupted his stream of conscience. Pitch lifted his head.

Two Fearlings approached, closing in slowly, curiously, their glittering black pelts rippling in anticipation. Pitch sneered, his lips curling up to reveal a flash of teeth. "I'm not afraid of you anymore." He smirked bitterly. And he wasn't, he really wasn't. At a closer inspection, Pitch found he recognised both Fearlings: once his two favourites. That was until he had watched them derive great pleasure from stomping on his chest with their heavy hooves, from taking formerly cherished memories and deforming them into ugly monstrosities that squatted in the corners of his head like ugly gargoyles. The golden eyes of both Fearlings met, as if they were assessing the situation. "Well?" Pitch said in a rather bored tone, "What now?" There was a confirmation in the eyes of the black sand horses. The larger one trotted over, bending a muzzle down to bump Pitch's forehead encouragingly, urging him to his feet. Gripping tightly onto his Nightmare's mane, he was yanked up of the ground. A moment passed, and it occurred to Pitch that these two Fearlings were silently asking for orders.

A door opened in Pitch Black's mind and it let the air in. The exhausted flames took in a deep gasp of oxygen, revitalizing the ferocious flames that roared with triumph. Sophie. Sophie was his glistening highway to revenge. He would twist her into something unrecognizable to those who knew her; he would pour thick black water into the spring of her mind, make cold where once she was warm, corrupt the natural goodness that had made her its home. He would take her from The Guardian's and make her his own creature. She would be all his, his and his alone.

But she didn't believe in him. And even if she did, if she knew he was the puppeteer then she would be able to put up one hell of a fight. She'd probably alert The Guardians. No, this operation must be conducted covertly. A little unwillingly, Pitch remembered a small piece of knowledge he had picked up from centuries of scaring. Momentarily, with the aid of a Fearling, he could disguise himself as a mortal. This came in handy when he found children wandering the streets at night, either rebelliously "running away from home" or simply wanting to explore with the thrill of being without their parents. Oh the fun he had had pretending to be a kindly, normal human stranger and then, before the children's terrified eyes, transforming into the thing that hid beneath their beds at night. He supposed now that this playful trick could come in handy. Without warning, Pitch was beginning to not see a downside to all this: hang around the hospital all day filling up on fear, corrupting Sophie whenever he had time to interact with her and staying out of The Guardian's radar. It would probably take a while to corrupt Sophie, but he had time to work on her. He had all the time in the world.

He spun sharply on the balls of his feet to face the other Fearling. "You." He ordered, pointing a rigid finger at the one who still haunted the tree-line, "I don't care how you do it, I don't care how many people's minds you have to dive into to make them do as you will, but I need an alias and a valid reason to be in that building." The Fearling bobbed its head and took off into the black sky. "And you," he purred, placing his two large grey hands on either side of the creatures great head, "You're going to be following me very closely from now on."

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Good evening everyone! I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it, I had a lot of fun with the Pitch scene. He's such a wonderful character to write. This brings me onto something I have yet to do, I forgot to put up a disclaimer, so here it is: I do NOT own Rise Of The Guardians or any of the characters that appear in the Film or in the books. Now that's settled, I did some research on Wikia and found that in the movie, Sophie was only two years old! To be honest, I thought she was a little older, but yeah, I didn't just pull that figure out of thin air or anything. And, in case it wasn't written clearly, Sophie is Twenty in this Fic.

Anywho, thanks again to everyone who has followed and/or favourited this, it really means a lot guys, you make me feel loved! If you haven't already, please feel free to drop a review, I'd love to hear your opinions on this.

To **Darthcat, **thanks for your interest! I hope this chapter fulfils your need to know more :D

Loads of love guys, stay safe out there.


	4. Chapter 4

Things weren't really going well at all for Nathaniel Cross: 27-year-old Englishman who had studied Psychology at The University Of Reading. It had been his dream to move to America since he first completed his course. He so desperately wanted that job in Pennsylvania. He was meant to catch a Plane from Heathrow to Pittsburgh International the Sunday morning before travelling by taxi to the small town of Burgess. It was going to be a long journey, but very much worth it. But now he wasn't going at all. Completely out of the blue, he had received an E-mail from the Doctor in charge of employment who had originally confirmed his placement reading that she regretfully had to decline his acceptance of the job offer. The job opening he applied for no longer existed. Nathaniel was confused and down-trodden.

Of course, according to all of Burgess State Hospital's records, Nathaniel Cross was still due to arrive and start work on the Monday as planned.

It was the morning after the incident with Daisy, and Sophie's shift had only just finished. She completed her notes and gathered her things together quietly, sleepily, ready to catch the bus and return to her little apartment. Dr Towle trudged into the office looking equally as exhausted, although she had had a full 8 hours sleep. Still, it was only 8 Am on a Friday morning. She hobbled over to the mirror on her desk and began to neaten her messy auburn bun. Sophie smiled and she headed to the door, looking a bit like a pack-mule with all her bags. "Have a nice day, Dr. Towle, I'll be heading off now. I've left some notes on the notice-board for you to have a look at when you've got time..."

"Oh, Sophie, I did want to catch you before I left. Dr. Cross will be starting on Monday. It appears the two of you have the same shift pattern so don't forget to show him around and make him feel welcome." Sophie bobbed her head with as much eagerness as she could muster through the early morning shroud of sleep. "Don't worry, I will, Dr."

"And please don't bombard the poor man with questions when he first arrives? I know you're here to learn from us but your enthusiasm can be pretty over-whelming sometimes." Sophie blushed a little, an awkward smile tugging at her mouth, "Yeah, I know, sorry."

"Don't be. You just get yourself some sleep okay? I'll see you Monday."

It was Sunday night. Pitch black stood before a grand floor-length mirror deep within his lair. He examined the image that reflected back at him with a self-satisfied smirk. He had forgotten just how convincing his mortal form really was. His hair was still the same luxurious crow-feather black, but his iris's had lost their luminescent gleam, their feline likeness which made them glow through the darkness and pierce the hearts of frightened children. Instead, his pupils nestled comfortably on two chestnut beds. But, for Pitch, that wasn't the most striking change of his appearance. His deathly ashen skin had life breathed back into it; his skin taking on a healthy tan which made him look very much alive instead of very much, well, ghostly. He still remained his daunting height.

Pitch, being the vain creature he was, couldn't help but think that the man looking back at him from the mirror pane looked _very_ dashing, and he was surprised at how well his outfit suited. He wore a dark grey waist-coat, with matching trousers, over a pristine white shirt. The open white coat that hung off his wide shoulders gave him an academic, important look that he was greatly impressed with. His tie was made of blood.

Danger with a silent promise of psychological dislocation wore black shoes with bloody soles.

He let the image fall. The Nightmare King stared back from the mirror once again. He felt tiered. He was reminded of his urgent need to regenerate his powers. But tomorrow was the day, the day things would start going his way again, the day he would take back the reins of his life and chose his own destiny by warping those of others. His mind's eye rested on the image of the small, blonde haired young woman with the leaf-green eyes, so full of hope and life and happiness. "Sophie…" he hissed, working the word strangely out of his mouth, as if getting his lips accustomed to forming the two syllables. A spider-like feeling twitched its many legs inside his belly. He just couldn't help himself feeling a playfully nasty excitement at what he would be doing in the following weeks to come. After his years of suffering and torment, this would come as a pleasant change.

He was so excited.

So brilliantly brutally excited.

If only she had chosen a different profession, if only she had chosen a different place of work, hell, if she had only chosen a different shift pattern she could have escaped her fate. For once in a very long time, coincidence had played right into Pitch's hands.

He let out a nasty little snicker at Sophie's great misfortune.

He couldn't wait.

He simply couldn't wait for his wicked intentions to unfold.

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Here's the fourth instalment, folks! It's a bit short, but I hope you enjoyed it regardless. I've updated a little earlier than I had planned, but life has a funny way of crushing away all the free-time I have (_had_) on the weekends so it was either today or Monday. So yeah, I have a lot on my plate this weekend, first on the list being grocery shopping as I have finally ran out of food in my flat. Well, I have a few cans of soup left and a single random frozen burger in my freezer. That'll do I suppose.

Sophie is finally going to meet Pitch in the next chapter, so stay tuned! Oh, and in case you're wondering why I've put Jack up as one of the main characters in this fic, don't worry, that white haired rascal will be making an appearance soon enough ;D And if you're also wondering about why I've chosen Pitch's mortal appearance to have a slightly dark complexion, it's because in the original book, before Pitch became Pitch Black he was a Roman general called Kozmotis Pitchiner. So, I thought I'd hint at his Italian roots.

Thanks for the new follows guys, you make me a very happy person.

**AlyKat16 **thank you so much for the review, I'm glad you liked it, I do try my best to write as well as I can!

**SamanthaSamma, **cheers for your continued support, I hope I can write up to your expectations :)

Thanks again for reading peeps, remember, reviews make me happy and if you have any suggestions I'd be happy to hear them!


	5. Chapter 5

Pitch "Nathaniel" Black reluctantly followed the middle-aged, infuriatingly chatty chubby nurse through the white halls of the hospital. After his initial tense meeting with Dr Towle (he had spent the whole session with his nails biting into the palms of his hands, anxious he would break character) he was referred to Nurse Evans. She led him out of the office and explained that his colleague Miss Bennett was leading a group "arts and crafts" session with the children and he should just go and observe. From that moment, she hadn't stopped talking. She wasn't even fazed by his lack of response. Pitch mentally grimaced: she just kept going and going and going. _She hasn't taken in a breath for a while now... oh, there it is: and speech ensues._

Pitch didn't notice at first when she stopped by one of the doors: a painted blue one with a most likely patient-made sign "Arts room 4" blue-tacked in the center. He halted in his tracks and awkwardly took a few steps back to come into line with the door. "…and so that's why we aren't allowed to drink orange juice in pink mugs anymore. Right! Remember no interrupting, let Miss Bennett lead on her own, just observe, we mustn't talk at all."

"I think you'll find that's a bit of a tall order for you…" Pitch mumbled under his breath.

"Sorry, what was that, Dr.?"

"Nothing." Pitch mumbled a fraction louder.

Nurse Evans opened the door and Pitch's heart instantly began to beat harder at the sight of Sophie sitting cross-legged on the ground surrounded by a circle of children. Her joyful smile out-shone the sun. Pitch's shadowy, serious expression eclipsed it. Some of the anxious children immediately shuffled closer to Sophie upon seeing the unnaturally tall dark man slink into the corner flanked by the familiar nurse. Sophie reclaimed the attention with ease. "Okay guys, it's time to talk about the pictures we drew! Danielle, would you like to start?" The ginger haired girl hesitated before nodding timidly and holding up a (in Pitch's opinion, appalling) picture of herself holding a black and white cat in her arms. She didn't speak. "Wow, that's beautiful, Danielle, I like how you drew the fur, she looks very fuzzy. Do you have anything to say about your picture?"

"I like cats." She whispered. Sophie beamed at the quiet girl who had only recently started speaking again, "Me too. Would you like me to put it up on the wall?" Danielle hugged the picture to her chest and shook her head. "That's okay, you can keep it if you want. Would anyone like to volunteer to be next?" A boy who had yet to sit still for even a second threw both his hands in the air enthusiastically as he bobbed up and down on the spot, barely containing a strange, high-pitched noise Pitch interpreted to be excitement. "Pick me, Miss Bennett! Me!" He chirped loudly, making Sophie laugh gently. "Okay Jimmy, would you like to show your friends your picture?" Jimmy held the brightly coloured picture high above his head. He burst into speech without any persuasion "Now it's late October again it's going to start getting frosty again and that means Jack Frost is going to be visiting us again so I thought I should draw a picture of us all playing outside with him we're having a snow-ball fight look I even drew the sparkles on frosty ground I wanted to use the silver glitter but we ran out of glue so I just had to draw it on but I think it looks cool this way anyway."

Pitch took in a deep breath: firstly because just hearing the little brat speaking had worn him out and secondly at the mention of Frost. He bristled. But a flicker of curiosity sparked in his chest as he turned his attention to Sophie, waiting for her reply. "That's fantastic, Jimmy! I really like the sparkling snow, and I think we all can't wait to go play outside with Jack Frost again." Sophie found it a little odd having to use Jack's full name; it sounded uncharacteristically formal in relation to the carefree spirit of fun she knew so very well, but she could only call him just Jack in front of the kids, not in front of the other adults.

Pitch couldn't contain himself, he simply had to break Nurse Evan's rule. He turned to the round Nurse at his side, "Should she really be encouraging such childish fantasies?" he droned in irritation, distain clearly pulling at his less-than-impressed features. Thankfully, Jimmy had erupted back into speech so Sophie and the other children didn't hear his sharp remark. Nurse Evans rammed an elbow into Pitch's unprepared side, making him actually double over momentarily.

_"HOW DARE YOU STRIKE THE KING OF NIGHTMARES, YOU FOOLISH MORTAL WOMAN!" _Pitch's mind shrieked at the top of its metaphorical lungs. His brown eyes shot daggers into the short, smiling lady, clearly happy with herself.

Pitch's anger eased with the delectable sensation of fear washing over his skin. Power pulsed in through his pores. One of the children had started crying. Jimmy was still talking. Sophie interrupted him gently but with urgency, "Just a moment, Jimmy, Daisy, sweetie, what's wrong?" Sophie got up and placed herself down beside Daisy who was sobbing pitifully, her long black hair hiding her face, "That man!" She squeaked in horror, "His voice...he has the same voice as the man in the corner, he does Miss Bennett, he really does!"

Pitch's face lit up in surprise: she recognised his voice. He had to speak again, he didn't care how hard the Nurse hit him. "Now, now, little girl, I don't know about this man standing in the corner, but I can assure you it wasn't _me_." His smooth words dripped with mischevious wickedness heard only by the child he aimed to scare. She wept harder.

Sophie sighed sympathetically, "Okay everyone, arts and crafts time is over…" there was a chorus of dissapointment, pierced by Jimmy yelling "But I wasn't finished yet!"

"…We'll continue this next session. Great work today guys, I think we all hit our personal targets for the day. Nurse Evans? Could you guide the kids to the playroom while I take Daisy back to her room, please?"

"Of course, Miss Bennett. Form an orderly queue by the door, children."

Pitch watched with the eyes of some hungry bird-of-prey while Sophie left the room, Daisy clutched in her slender arms.

After an hour of talking to Daisy and putting her constantly fretting mind at ease, Sophie had finally gotten her to take a nap. She slipped out of her bedroom door, walking backwards with door-handle in hand to be sure she shut it quietly enough that she didn't wake Daisy.

She turned around.

She almost leapt out of her skin in shock, but she managed not to voice her alarm. She couldn't wake Daisy.

"Did I scare you?" The towering figure of the dark man loomed over her while he purred out his words in a velvety British accent. "That's not funny." Sophie whispered with a pout. Pitch smirked playfully, "I'm afraid I disagree."

"It's Dr. Nathaniel Cross right? From England?" Pitch paused, "Yes indeed…" he slurred, "and you are Sophie."

"Yes…indeed…" Sophie echoed in confusion, unsure why he didn't refer to her as Miss Bennett as most people would on their initial meeting with her. She decided to treat him in the same way. "It's nice to meet you, Nathaniel." Nathaniel let out a strange laugh, tilting his head back at an odd, over-exaggerated angle as if she'd said something truly hilarious. "Sophie, my dear, the pleasure is all mine, I can assure you." Sophie cringed a little. _My dear?_ She hated pet names in the work place from male colleagues, especially from doctors who tried to undermine her. It took Sophie a moment to realise that Nathaniel was holding out his hand to her. _Shake hands, Sophie! It's what you do when you first meet someone like him! Duh! _She shook her head, muttering a swift apology before taking his hand.

She was shocked at his touch.

She'd come into contact with people with cold hands before. Heck, Jack's hands were wonderfully cool, like white marble left outside in the snow. Nathaniel's hand however, wasn't cold. Instead, it seemed to suck warmth from her own, as if draining it of heat. She shivered while he gripped her hand tightly, a little too tightly, and, to her relief, he released her hand within seconds.

Pitch felt the flames of revenge lick at the inside of his veins. Somewhere nearby, he heard the Nightmare's hooves stop the ground excitedly. He sighed, "I think we're going to have a lot of fun working together, Sophie."

* * *

Woo! Fifth chapter finally done! I only started this today and I was going to update tomorrow, but hey, I love a good midnight release as much as the next guy (at least it's midnight here in Blighty right now anyway).

Pitch has finally got to meet Sophie properly now! Things are really going to start going Pitch's way from here...or are they?

Jeez, I have got to get to bed. I have a Literary Aesthetics lecture early tomorrow and if I'm actually going to heave my living carcass out of bed in the morning I'm going to have to get some sleep as soon as possible.

Hope you're all enjoying the ride so far guys, let me know if you have any suggestions.

Remember, all reviewers get virtual cookies chaps! Look after yourselves out there in the outernet!


	6. Chapter 6

It was late. Sophie pulled her extra-large pink hoodie down over her head, wriggling her arms into the arm holes. The hem of her make-shift nightie rested just above her knees and her hands remained fully covered by the extra fabric, keeping them snug and warm. She shook her freshly washed (now blueberry scented) hair from side to side, allowing it to fall messily into place.

Padding barefoot to her bedroom window, she pushed it open, leaning out to open it as far as she possibly could. If she was a cat, she would have purred. She was delighted by the strong, indescribable scent that rushed in to greet her: the smell of a late autumn night…and a touch of frost on the air. She leant her forearms onto the windowsill, sighing softly as she searched the world outside her window. She was lucky to be so close to one of the little parks. From her high vantage point on the 10th floor of the apartment block she could clearly see all the remaining leaves on the tops of the trees, so colourful, so beautiful in their decay. It wouldn't be long now before they fell to the ground to join their brothers.

"It's beautiful, huh?" This time, Sophie did yelp, and whirled around to face the familiar, cheeky white-haired spirit, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he stood on top of the bed. Upon seeing who it was, Sophie laughed warmly, letting her head loll back as she exclaimed "I have _got_ to stop being so jumpy!"

"The kitchen window was open. I thought I'd let myself in." He shrugged with his signature half-smile.

"No, no that's fine! So? where's my hug?" she grinned, arms wide open. Before she could even finish her sentence she was in Jack's arms, giggling at the icy tickle that being in contact with the winter spirit entailed. Even though she was twenty and Jack was seventeen, she was still just a couple of inches shorter than him and this often led to her _still_ being called "ankle-biter" in jest by Bunnymund. At first it had irritated her, but she couldn't help being small.

Jack released her. "How have you been doing anyway? You haven't visited us in a while and I think Bunny's getting his fur all up in a twist over it." Sophie chuckled, "I'm doing good. I've been meaning to visit everyone but I've just been so busy lately. Oh, would you like a cup of coffee? Tea? Hot chocolate?"

Jack grinned with his perfect white teeth, "Hot chocolate sounds good." Sophie grinned back as her reply and he followed her into the kitchen.

After the hot-chocolate had been brewed, the pair sat on the small living room sofa, knees tucked to their chests under a red patterned quilted duvet North had given Sophie as a gift from a few Christmas's back. "So you know I was telling you about that Nathaniel guy the hospital were going to employ to help train and teach me so Dr. Towle has more time?" Jack nodded, blowing cool air onto his hot chocolate. "Well, he turned up yesterday."

"What's he like? He isn't boring is he? He sounded pretty boring to me last time you mentioned him."

"Urmmm, no, he isn't boring. For a British guy, he doesn't really have a sense of etiquette though; and he keeps staring at me like he wants to cut me up into little pieces and have me for dinner or something."

"You're always landed with the creepy ones, aren't you?"

"It's just the way he _looks_ at me sometimes, to look _at_ he isn't creepy at all." A playful smile pulled at Jack's lips, he never could resist teasing Sophie, "Oooo do I sense a little work-place romance in the air?"

"Oh hell no! Definitely not!" Despite the words being all truth, Sophie's face betrayed her, telling its own lie as her skin flushed a pinkish red. Jack simply laughed; he always knew how to pull the right strings to get a reaction from her. It reminded Sophie of that soul-crushingly embarrassing time in her life when she was sixteen and had developed a very much unwanted crush on the winter spirit. She shuddered on the inside: she'd rather never think about that ever again in her whole life. Jack remembered too, of course, he knew that Sophie had been mortified by her feelings for him. He had just found it amusing. In fact, he quite liked her attention; the way those green orbs darted away from his frosty blue eyes whenever he looked at her, the nervous stuttering that only occurred in his presence, the delightful shade of pink her cheeks turned whenever he touched her. But it obviously wouldn't have worked out for a number of different reasons. Besides, wasn't there some sort of rule against dating your best-friend's sister?

As if she was on the same wave-length, Sophie spoke up "Have you seen Jamie today?" Jack nodded enthusiastically, "Yeah, I have. He's doing good, still terrified that Pippa's going to jilt him at the altar though."

"I bet he is!" Sophie giggled to herself. She was actually a little surprised that Jack had mentioned the wedding which was going to take place at the end of December at all. All of The Guardians were invited, and Jamie had wanted Jack to be his best man; but for obvious reasons, a spirit couldn't present the rings in front of Jamie and Pippa's family and friends. Although Jack would never admit it, it rubbed painful blisters onto his heart.

After a fun night of talking, eating through a year's supply of chocolate and play-fighting, Sophie noticed the time with a gasp, "3 AM!? How did it get so late? I've got to be at work at 3 _and_ I have to work the night-shift! I have got to get to bed."

Jack bobbed his head and shrugged his shoulders, "You know what they say, time flies when you're having fun." Sophie beamed and threw her arms around his shoulders, "Goodnight, Jack, thanks for stopping by. And tell the others I'll visit them as soon as I can." Jack squeezed her back, "I will." He confirmed. He let her go, and strolled over to the bedroom window. He stepped up onto the ledge and walked out onto the air. He turned back to wave and Sophie returned the gesture from the inside of her window. There was a large gust of icy wind and it billowed Jack high up into the sky to ride the currents of the air to his next destination.

In his wake, the world outside her window now glittered and shimmered beautifully, winking up from the ground and giving her a sense of peace in her heart.

* * *

Hullo again, everyone! I apologise for the lack of Pitch in this chapter, but don't you worry, there'll be enough Pitch to last you a life time throughout this fanfic and we'll be seeing that devilish creature next chapter :P I wasn't really looking forward to writing for Jack, I was a little apprehensive about getting his character right. I got into the flow of it soon enough, I just hope that he's at least a little believable.

Thank you all so much for reading, if you've got any suggestions or like something in particular, feel free to let me know. Thanks for all the favs and follows folks, you keep reading and I'll keep writing :)

Right, I'm signing off for the weekend: time to relax, have fun and have a little me time (LOL JK, I'll be at work dealing with the unreasonable, idiotic members of the British public). Have a fab weekend chaps!


	7. Chapter 7

Sophie looked down at the watch on her wrist impatiently: it was 3:45 PM. She and Dr. Cross were _meant_ to begin Caitlin's therapy at 3:30. She had sat Caitlin down in the private consultation room with a cup of black, decaf coffee, no sugar, and told her they'd be along shortly. She apologised excessively for Dr. Cross's absence.

She stood waiting outside the door, foot tapping fractiously and her arms folded across her chest. Was he even going to bother showing up at all? Her head snapped round to face the sound of the opening door from down the corridor. Nathaniel sauntered over at his own leisurely pace, still flicking through Caitlin's chart with a bored expression on his face. Sophie felt the temperature of her blood rise a fraction. "Hurry up, you're late!" She hissed. Nathaniel cocked an eye brow. He didn't speed up. He reached the door in his own time, pushed it open and held it politely for Sophie to enter. Sophie ground her teeth as she pushed past him into the small room which smelt of old books. There were bookshelves lining the perimeter of the room, and in the centre were two cream coloured sofa's parallel to one another, separated by a dark wooden table between them. The sixteen-year-old sat cross-legged on one of the sofas, her bony hands holding onto her dangerously thin legs. She'd finished her coffee.

"Katie, we're both very sorry for keeping you waiting so long, Dr. Coss was just…?" She looked over at him poignantly, expecting him to finish the sentence, to explain himself. He didn't. "Okay then…anyway, this is Dr. Nathaniel Cross, he'll be sitting in on our sessions together." They sat down together on the sofa opposite. "Dr.? Would you like to introduce yourself?"

"I think you'll find you did that for me. And I was only late because I made you a cup of tea." Sophie squinted her eyes at the strange man. She was supposed to be thankful for the tea, but at the same time she hated how late he was and mostly she hated how he had yet to address or even_ look_ at their patient. "Thank you." She forced unwillingly. Before she could register his movement, Nathaniel was pushing a polystyrene cup at her. She took it with another mumble of thanks.

However what she didn't notice, what she _couldn't_ have noticed was the corrupted black dream sand he had poured into her drink that, with his own trained eyes, Pitch could still see swirling around in the warm liquid. Sophie took a sip, and instantly began to cough, feeling as though something was grating at the back of her throat, working its way into her blood stream. Pitch didn't look like he cared for her sudden coughing fit and neither did Caitlin. She quickly caught a hold of herself and, placing the drink down, stifled her coughs. "So, Katie, considering this is your first meeting with Dr. Cross, would you like to tell him a bit about yourself?"

"What can I tell him that he hasn't already read in my chart anyway? This is so stupid." She muttered. Sophie's brow creased, "Please be polite to Dr. Cross, it's his first week here."

"Yeah, and what a fucking good job he's doing, turning up late-"

"Mind your language." Pitch barked suddenly, making even Sophie look surprised at his outburst.

There were many things in this world that Pitch hated. Actually, there was a long drop-down list of things Pitch hated, and one of the many things on the list was swearing. He was a firm believer that, in the majority of cases at any rate, the use of profanities was for the literary inept who couldn't think of any better words to use. Pitch became aware of the sudden silence. "Karry-"

"Katie."

"Right. Katie, I'm not the kind of man who indulges in trickery or false pretenses-" (who was he kidding) "-so I'll let you know now that I've skim-read your file at best. So please, tell me about yourself."

"Fine. I'm Katie Parker, I'm sixteen, I originally came from Allentown and I have depression and anorexia. Your turn." Her drawn face remained blank: apathetic at worst, bored at best. "I'm Dr. Nathaniel Cross, I'm twenty-seven years old, I was born in-" (think typical place in England) "- London and this is my first time in the States." Katie expressed no interest. There was another substantial silence. It struck Pitch that Sophie was probably, as he was the more skilled, older doctor, expecting him to conduct today's therapy (whatever on earth that entailed). He thought fast.

"Tell you what, Sophie, you lead this session and I'll assess your techniques and tact. Off you go."_ Obviously!_ Sophie mentally slapped herself, _he'll need to know at what kind of a level I'm working at, and here I was about to just sit back let him do all of the work._

"And don't forget to drink your tea. I went through all the trouble of making it for you, I don't want it to go cold."

Sophie finally got some free time at seven O'clock, and she took the opportunity to get herself something to eat and drink to keep her fuelled for the night ahead. She only had to work until midnight today, so she shrugged it off, supposing it could be worse. And it did get worse. Nathaniel waltzed into the employee kitchen at the precise moment she sat down to enjoy her coffee. "Sophie." He smiled the most charming smile he could muster.

"Nathaniel." She replied courteously, taking a dignified sip from her mug. "So why were you late for our session with Katie?"

"I made you a cup of tea. Come on, you knew that one." He gave a crooked smile which made Sophie's grip of the mug handle tighten. "Yeah, but it doesn't take fifteen minutes to make a cup of tea."

"Well then you clearly don't know how much effort went into that." And she didn't. She really didn't. "Nathaniel, it was only a cup of tea, and I didn't ask for it, you shouldn't make yourself late at my expense." Something inside Sophie told her to hold back a little, to be a bit more polite, a bit more respectful. After all, he was her superior. Sophie's nose twitched. She was always respectful, just only to the people who were respectful to her.

Pitch put on his best "offended" face, "I only aimed to be kind." He spoke gently but firmly, raising his right hand to his heart as if truly hurt by her irritation at him. Something akin to guilt fluttered inside Sophie's belly; she never liked to hurt anyone's feelings. "Look, I shouldn't be the one telling you what to do and when you should be in work, I'm just saying I didn't like being left hanging there. I expected you to be there and you weren't."

"Then may I offer my most sincere apology." His voice was velvet. To the untrained eye, Pitch appeared to be in earnest, but to Sophie who had learnt to read people like open books, something that wasn't quite as sincere as he hoped to portray lurked within his eyes. Those deep, rich brown eyes lined with thick black lashes.

Jack's teasing words came back to haunt her: _"Oooo do I sense a little work-place romance in the air?"_ The over-whelming urge to smash her face into the table top was crippling. She wished Jack hadn't even placed that little uncomfortable notion in her mind. Okay, she admitted to herself that the tall, charismatic almost theatrical man was attractive on some level, but it didn't cover up the fact that he appeared to be a total dick. A term, she had learnt today, that Nathaniel probably wouldn't be so thrilled about her using.

"That's fine I guess…" Sophie muttered into her coffee. Nathaniel turned to leave the kitchen, but not before he swiveled on his heel to face Sophie again. "Oh, and Sophie?" She raised her blonde brows in response, "Do watch yourself getting home tonight, won't you?" He left the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click. He didn't leave with anything, letting Sophie wonder why he even came into the kitchen at all.

She had begun to develop a headache.

* * *

Hello again, guys! Don't worry, next chapter will be up shortly ;)

By the way, I think I'm going to boost the rating for this story to M. I don't plan on writing anything _that_ bad, but better safe than sorry, you know?


	8. Chapter 8

Sophie paced down the midnight street with a deep frown, her head now pounding as if she was being repetitively struck on the back of her skull with an iron rod.

She marched past one of the seedy run-down bars she had to walk past every day. The usual couple of drunks that hung around outside this particular bar began to screech out their cat-calls and wolf-whistles as they did most nights. She didn't even grace them with a reaction; she just pulled her long green coat further around herself and carried on walking. She just wanted to get home and go to bed.

She came upon a long, quiet road. Although it was a familiar street, something didn't quite feel right tonight. The street-lamps had failed to light up, leaving the road in complete darkness. The moon and the stars had been smothered by thick, ominous clouds. It was pitch black.

Sophie felt a shudder of dread tear its way up her spine and she quickened her steps. It was always quiet at this time, but never _this_ quiet. Something had to be wrong. Why was it so painfully quiet?

There was a thumping sound behind her.

She spun on her heel, long hair whipping to the side.

But there was nothing there. Just her alone on the dark road as the wind whispered eerily through the surrounding buildings. Her heart began to beat a mile a minute, knocking brutally against her rib cage as her eyes shot backwards and forwards, adrenaline rushing into the blood in her veins and making every muscle in her entire body remain tensed and ready for anything. She stood as still as a statue, her feet stuck to the floor, until she was sure in her mind that her imagination had created the noise for an unknown reason; probably due to her nerves.

Sophie exhaled deeply in relief, only realising then that she had been holding her breathe the whole time. She couldn't help but mentally laugh at her own stupidity and terror.

She turned back around.

Something that resembled Nathaniel stood directly in front of her, grinning ferociously. The skeletal grin fell, his grey features impassive. He leant in. There was a horrifying pause. "Boo." He whispered.

Sophie screamed, falling back onto the ground, her legs kicking manically against the floor to push her away from the image; or at least, where the image had been. Still hyperventilating, her wild eyes searched the empty space before her.

Had she…hallucinated that? It wasn't Nathaniel, and whatever it was, if it had been anything at all, had gone now. She picked herself up off the ground, flushing with embarrassment and anxiety. It felt an even longer walk home from there. No matter what road she took, no matter how quickly she ran, she could feel eyes burning into her flesh. Watching. Waiting. Mocking.

And when she arrived home she crawled into bed and cried herself to sleep and straight into her nightmares.

* * *

I told you I'd update shortly, didn't I? :D I decided to keep this chapter short and sweet, considering that more than a chapter 8, it's a bit of a chapter 7 part deux.

So Pitch's wickedness is just starting to take a hold of Sophie, and God only knows where it's going to take her.

**Yukigirl21** I'm very glad you liked the presentation of Sophie and Jack, I was terrified I'd write Jack out of character, so it's good too know I didn't do too badly :)

Sophie does indeed find Pitch attractive,** darthcat**, but his charming looks are crushed under the weight of his douchiness ;D

Right, I need to go down to the campus library and write an indepth, close reading of Robert Browning's _"Childe Roland To The Dark Tower Come."_ Because who doesn't want to be working on a complex poem in a library at midnight, stuffing chocolate into their mouths and feeling like a total imbecile who can just about count to potato.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter, my lovely readers, have a great night (or day)!


	9. Chapter 9

Sophie crept though the halls of her abandoned place of work with terror swimming in her wide eyes. The colours had been washed away from her surroundings, leaving her with a monochrome shell of the place she knew. But this _wasn't_ the place she knew. Well known corridors twisted into warped winding pathways, some rooms were larger than they should be while others shriveled in size; there were doors here were there weren't meant to be and smooth walls where there should be doors. There were no exits.

A black thing peeked its head round a corner to stare at her. When she looked at it it shrunk back. Sophie, despite her fear, ran towards where I had been; she couldn't stand being alone in this place any longer. She spun round the corner, breathing heavily through exertion: her efforts had been for nothing. She was greeted by an empty white corridor with a single black door at the end. She stepped into it, prepared to follow whatever it had been, it had to have taken off this way. Something brushed her hair to the side as it passed along the T shaped corridor she was faced with. She whirled around with a yelp of fright, expecting to see something there, but only a shadow passed through her line of vision.

She became aware of the sound of…hooves from behind the black door at the end of corridor the first thing had retreated down. The sound echoed around her sub-conscious world. It was getting closer. She suddenly, painfully, fearfully realised she didn't want whatever it was to find her. This crippling isolation was better than facing whatever was haunting her, surely.

She went to run. She couldn't move. Her feet were stuck to the spot as if she were knee-deep in hardened cement, she tried her hardest to move them, biting painfully into her bottom lip as she attempted desperately to yank her feet off the ground. The little black door began to creep open with a groaning creek. "Please, please, please!" she begged her legs, "move!" The door was wide open now like a war-wound; it gaped black blood. Diffusing through the darkness, two luminous, cruel, bemused eyes stared right at her. A sudden twisted white smile pierced the black.

Before Sophie could scream, she felt herself falling, felt the air rushing past her, then the sensation of her soft sheets beneath her, the cosy quilt on top of her. She could her her clock ticking on the wall. She'd woken up.

She went to take a deep gasp of relief, only to find that her breath remained slow and shallow. She tried to open her eyes. She couldn't. She tried to move her limbs. She couldn't. Two hands had grasped her heart and lungs and yanked them into her stomach. Fear ran through her body like she was being electrocuted with it. She tried to move her arms and legs with all her strength, her limbs _ached_ with strain: but they didn't move didn't even twitch.

She couldn't be any more defenseless.

_There's a man in the room_, her mind whispered rapidly its frenzied warning. Sophie instantly became cripplingly aware of a presence in the bedroom and Daisy's words sounded in her mind "_There's a man in the corner"_

_Oh, God! Open your eyes, Sophie! Do it _now, _oh God, please_! Slowly, painfully, she fought against the lead thumbs pressing against her eyelids until her right eye strained half-open. Her eye, still capable of movement, locked onto the figure of a man in the corner.

She tried to scream out a message for help, but from between her slightly parted lips she couldn't even push her breath out faster, let alone move her lips or tongue in the intricate way required to generate speech. The figure didn't move. It just peered, eyeless, at her paralyzed form lying on the bed. Soon, she began to wheeze, quickening her breaths, and then she was able to elicit a strangled whimper.

The figure took a step forward from the corner. Eyes came into view: molten gold and silver eyes. Her lip twitched, then her arm, and abruptly she tore free of her fetters, her body thrashing wildly as she screamed as loud as she possibly could. She hammered the light switch on.

In the now illuminated room, she could see she was all on her own.

Her alarm clock went off.

She wanted to be anywhere but work. Anywhere. She couldn't muster the enthusiasm and concern required to take of the kids today, so she'd taken a break, huddled over on a plastic seat in the kitchen with a mug of cold coffee clutched between shaking hands. She stared into the dark liquid, the quaking and rippling pool.

"Well don't you look absolutely miserable, hm?" Sophie jumped, droplets of her coffee following suit. Pitch laughed, "I didn't mean to scare you." He lifted his open palms just above his shoulders in defense, accompanied by a far from sweet smile. Sophie just stared at him, her green eyes against her pale face made her look physically sick. Her usually pink lips were pale peach.

"You," Pitch began, leaning his elbow on the counter-top, "didn't show up to our session with Daisy. I think I recall someone saying they didn't like to be left hanging." Sophie's sullen face drooped with shame as she almost whispered, "I'm sorry, Nathaniel, I did not have a good night last night. I'm really shaken up." Pitch popped on his most convincing concerned face and pulled up a seat beside her, "_You poor girl_, you look as white as a corpse, whatever on earth happened to you?"

"I…" She paused, uncertain whether or not she should confide in him. He raised his eyebrows and dipped his head, waiting for her to continue. "I could have sworn someone tried to follow me home last night. I was so afraid when I got home I got myself caught up into a nightmare, and when I woke I had to endure an episode of ISP, you know, isolated sleep paralysis. It's never happened to me before, and I was just so scared I-" Sophie had to stop herself. She was close to welling up.

Pitch couldn't be happy with his handiwork. Well, technically the dream sand had conjured the nightmare and his Fearling had locked her into the paralysis while projecting his image in the corner. He had followed her home though, most of the way anyway, he was currently still too weak to stray too away from the hospital. But with all this fear to indulge in that would soon change. He couldn't wait to pay her a visit himself.

Pitch got back to the matter at hand. "Sophie, I want you to answer this question with the honesty the severity of the matter holds: this is just between you and me, you understand? Do you think you need psychiatric help?"

"What? No!"

"It's just that episodes such as the one you have described often occur in people with anxiety disorders, bi-polar disorder, post-traumatic stress disorder or even depression. Are you sure you're alright?" Sophie felt a little stab of anger, although she wasn't sure she was mad at him for suggesting something so stupid or at herself for confiding in him against her better judgment. "While that may be true,_ Doctor_, most people with isolated sleep paralysis don't have any mental health problems at all. It's only if the episodes become persistent." Pitch inwardly chuckled light-heartedly to himself at her use of the word doctor. He was deeply pleased by the way she pouted her lips with her shoulders hunched and her green almond-shaped eyes narrowed at him. She was almost cute when she was angry.

"This is the first time this has happened, yes?"

"_Yes_."

"Promise me you'll tell me if your episodes persist?"

"They won't"

"Promise me."

"Fine! Sure. Whatever." Sophie snapped. Pitch smiled, his head cocked to one side. She was just so easy to manipulate. Hell, this was almost _too_ easy. "You've spilt half your coffee on the floor. Here, let me get you another one…"

* * *

Ta-daa! Chapter 9 is all completed and I must say I had quite a bit of fun writing this chapter. Ooooo isn't Pitch a slimy bastard?

In fact, this chapter wasn't originally meant to go in this direction: there was going to be a nightmare sequence, but it seems Pitch decided to pay _me _a little visit last night and I ended up having an ISP episode. Take it from me, they are the most terrifying things you've ever had the displeasure of going through as they are often paired with hallucinations which make you believe there is an intruder, or "Incubus" in the room (P.S guys, I'm not mad, it's only happened twice before, I'm fine...I hope :P )

After a few hours of feeling jumpy and on edge, it suddenly occured to me "hey, what if Pitch gave Sophie an ISP episode to go along with that nightmare of hers?" and so I added this to the chapter.

Anyway, chaps, thanks again so much for reading and following, favouriting and reviewing. I write for you, my awesome readers, and it's always wonderful when you guys throw me a virtual cookie in the form of a review.

Keep safe out there, and I hope Pitch doesn't come to visit you tonight ;D


	10. Chapter 10

It had been two weeks since Sophie's initial nightmare, and it seemed to her that her first meeting with her demons in that inky space between reality and fantasy was only the threshold of her waking hell. Her sleep paralysis episodes became longer and occurred with outstanding regularity and her nightmares became even more vivid. She didn't tell Nathaniel. She couldn't. She couldn't talk to anyone about this; if he had thought her mentally unstable when she admitted to just _one_ occasion, what would everyone else think?

She floated through the corridors of the hospital feeling like a ghost, like an echo of her former self. She still did her best to muster the energy to put on a false smile for the children, but it was difficult for her to be optimistic when she found herself counting the hours to her inevitable nightmares.

Pitch was delighted by this transformation. He couldn't believe just how quickly it had taken to start crushing out her spirit. All he needed now was to extinguish the remnants. Then the second part of his plan could unfold.

Interrupting his train of thought, Pitch watched as Sophie shuffled into one of elevators. She usually just walked the three flights, but sleep deprivation had made her lethargic at best. Pitch quickened his steps, eager to join her, a snake like smile spreading across his face. "Hold the doors, Sophie." He called out, barley containing the excitement in his voice. The metal doors began to judder to a close, and before Sophie could even think about _not_ holding the doors, Pitch grabbed hold of both sides and pulled them apart forcefully. He grinned at Sophie. And my, was she a sight to behold. Her skin had turned the most beautiful shade of pale Pitch had ever lain eyes on; and he had made the flag of colour retreat from the battlefield of the skin in fear on countless occasions. Her once wide green eyes which spoke of innocence wore soft grey skirts, indicating how often those orbs had shot open, never to close again, or at least praying never to close again, in the fear he had initiated.

"You didn't hold the door for me...how very rude of you." Pitch spoke with a charming smile, signalling his words were merely in jest. Sophie looked into his eyes sleepily, her face impassive. _I really don't want to deal with your bullshit today, Nathaniel…_ she thought to herself with a tiny sigh. The doors closed. There was a pause before the metal cube shuddered awake and began its quiet ascent.

Abruptly, the elevator staggered to a stop, throwing Sophie a little off balance. The walls emitted a deep groaning sound. Sophie's breath hitched in her throat.

This was going to be fun.

"Uh, what's going on?" Sophie whispered more to herself than to Nathaniel. She hit the button. She hit it again. Nothing happened. Sophie's brow furrowed.

Suddenly, the elevator jolted, then dropped a meter or two, causing Sophie to cry out and instinctively grab on to Pitch's arm. This was going to be very fun. "Seriously, what is going on?" Sophie spoke aloud this time, pressing the "Help" button numerous times while she bit into her lip: this could not be happening. Seconds passed, and there was no response. Worry burst the banks and flooded in. "Well," Pitch began, "I think we may well be trapped, my dear Sophie."

"No. No we are not." Sophie spoke out against better judgment, now repetitively jabbing the glowing "Help" button. "Hey! Hey what's the problem? Why have we stopped? Anyone there? Come on!" While Sophie continued in her fruitless endeavor, the lights began to flicker ominously, gently at first, and then flashing frantically. Sophie took a step towards Nathaniel, once again grasping the sleeve of his white coat: this wasn't another nightmare, she was awake. She was wasn't she?

There was a sharp metallic noise and the lights died. Sophie let out a one syllable scream and buried her face into Pitch's coat, clinging to his arm like a safety blanket. She peek out at the surrounding darkness and found that, to her horror, the darkness was _moving,_ shifting like a bed of insects. "Nathaniel!" She yelped redundantly, desperate for any comfort available. "Oh, it's only a_ little_ bit dark." Pitch taunted.

"B-but it's _moving_!" She whined, grasping at him even harder than before to the point Pitch could feel her nails begin to stab into him. "Don't be so ludicrous, Sophie. Anyone would think you were going mad." He purred pleasurably, rolling the words of his tongue in bliss. "Nathaniel, we need to get out! We have got to get out right now!"

The emergency breaks released: free-fall ensued.

Sophie screamed as they fell, throwing her arms around Nathaniel as if her life depended on it. It just might after all. She braced for impact, but impact never came; just the sensation of falling down—down—down. Sophie looked around in fear, the lights had returned but flashed madly, giving her a sort of photo snap vision. The air still shrieked around them as they fell. "What the fuck is going on!?" Sophie cried out, never releasing her plier-like grip on Nathaniel. "I have mentioned before that I abhor cursing, right?"

"-the fuck is wrong with you? What the fuck is happening to us?" A wide palm crushed against her mouth, and she met Nathaniel's piercing gaze, "Mind. Your. Language." He snarled, features severe. A multitude of voices began to whisper, shout and shriek through the darkness in an unknown language as old as fear itself, pulling at the threads of sanity. Sophie sobbed desperately, thrashing her head from side to side as if hoping to shake the voices out of her skull. Something akin to snapping jaws began nipping and tugging at her hair and clothes, she tried to lash out, to fight back, but her flailing fists and kicks met nothing. Darkness cannot be struck. Sophie threw herself into Pitch's arms, her own wrapped around his neck while she buried her head into his shoulder, "Just make it stop!" she cried out into the fabric.

"I can. I can make it stop." His voice was unbearably gentle. "Then do it…please!"

"But I need you to do something for me first. Can you do that, Sophie? Can you do something for me?"

"Yes! Anything! Just make it stop—God—just make it stop…"

"I want you to look me in the eyes." Confused, but dazed into willingness she eased her grip so she could slip a few inches away from his shoulder and locked pleading eyes onto his calm, controlled brown ones. "I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me you're afraid." Sophie almost laughed at the absurdity, but the bedlam unraveling around her drove her to utter "I am."

"No. Say it, say you're afraid." He growled with a smirk. The jaws of the darkness clamped onto Sophie's ankle and tugged, making her yell out in shock and pain "Okay, Okay! I'm afraid!"

"Do you believe, Sophie? Do you believe in me now?"

"Yes, I do!" Sophie called out at random through desperation. But it wasn't Sophie who replied to the question, it was something deep inside her, something animal, something instinctual, that had its belief in the Bogeyman reawakened. And for the time being, Pitch would take that.

The lights sprung on.

The elevator music resumed its dull warbling.

The elevator was at a stand-still and the doors opened with a ping.

"Uh, Sophie?" a falsely concerned Pitch questioned, "Do you mind releasing me?" Sophie threw her arms to her side and leapt back, head darting around like a startled sparrow to view her now familiar surroundings. "What ever's the matter?

"What—I—we just—this can't-"

"Slow down, tell me what you saw, Sophie—Sophie!" Pitch growled in annoyance as he watched the terrified young woman race like a hare to the stair-well, flinging the door open to escape. Pitch rolled his eyes and gritted his teeth in annoyance. He had hoped to squeeze out even more fear from the girl. He paced to the door. Well, he might as well follow her.

* * *

Another chapter for you, folks, sorry about the wait.

I was going to say I really enjoyed writing this chapter, but I feel that way with every chapter I write so I feel the need to say this has become quite redundant. I really hope you're looking forward to the next chapter as much as I'm looking forward to writing it: oh yes, there will be fireworks ;D buuuuttt there will also be a scene which some readers may find distressing so I'll be sure to pop in a pre-warning just in case.

Hope you all liked reading this chapter. Please do drop me a review, they make me happy and they keep me writing, so thanks for all your support!

Stay groovey guys, Ciao!


	11. Chapter 11

_'Sup, guys, I said in the author's note of the previous chapter that I'd put a little warning here for any sensitive readers so here it is: this chapter includes violent assault, strong language and suggestive themes. _

* * *

Sophie rushed down the streets on her way home as quickly as she could, sometimes walking, sometimes jogging. Her mind worked frantically trying to piece together the experience she had just suffered in the elevator; but it seemed she couldn't even mentally assign words to describe her horrific experience. Was she really going mad? She had to be, this most certainly did _not _happen to normal people, to sane people.

Every last movement, every time a shadow so much as twitched she whirled round to stare in fear.

Pitch followed at a distance, disguise dropped, favouring the shadows. He basked in the radiating fear she emitted; in fact, Pitch began to contemplate following her all the way home. His powers were growing stronger by the day, and with all this to fear wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, it was highly feasible that he could sustain himself on it. Maybe he'd be able to conjure a nightmare especially for her himself.

She came across that run-down little bar that she always passed on the way home, and the two men who appeared to permanently reside outside the stained double-doors smoking their cigarettes resumed the cat calls as per most nights. "Y'alright, babe, why don't ya walk those pretty little legs in our direction and we'll show ya a good time." Not once had Sophie ever replied or even looked in their direction, but tonight she was at the end of her tether. "Just leave me alone you sick freaks, I don't want you anywhere fucking near me." She barked like a mad dog on a leash, continuing to march along the pavement with her fists clenched.

There was no reply from the two men. _Finally, speechless, _Sophie thought with satisfaction. Maybe they'd finally get the picture and leave her alone for good now.

She soon became aware of the sound of rapid footsteps behind her, and before she could even spin on her heel she felt a crashing weight come down on the back of her skull, knocking her forward. Through dazed vision, she watched as she rushed towards the floor, but just before she could make contact, an arm looped around her waist, dragging her up before she was slammed into a near-by wall. Her eyes focused on the man who had her pressed against the wall: one of the two men from outside the bar. _Fuck._

He drooled his hot smoky whiskey scented breath on her face while he slurred, "I don't let bitches like ya to talk to men like that, ya get me?" His friend sauntered over, muttering quietly to the wide man in a thick, accent Sophie didn't quite recognise. "Just let me go," Sophie wheezed, realising she was on the edge her tip-toes, "I'm sorry." She lied, hoping to feed his ego by making him feel as if she was afraid. At the moment, she wasn't afraid of him: she was still more afraid of what was going on in her head.

The large, dirty blond haired man shook his head and tutted patronizingly, "Naw, I don't think ya are sweetharrt. I think ya need to prove just haw sorry ya are. Ya owe us somethin' and I think ya now just what that is." Okay, now she was afraid. Working her hand out of his grip she flung a fist up to connect with the man's wide face, and she heard an audible crunch under her knuckled. He howled like a beast and staggered back, pawing at his bleeding face. Feet now firmly back on the ground, Sophie threw herself into a sprint, running as quickly as she could. She had to be faster than the larger man, but the lanky, lean, rat-like one might pose a challenge if he had decided to give chase.

Sophie could hear the hammering of footsteps behind her, but the distance between them was getting wider and wider. She could do this, she could lose them, get away, get back to her apartment. Back to worrying about the enforced fantasy not the reality. She ran past a dark alley, and in the corner of her eye, something moved. Her head snapped round to look for the source of the movement and her foot snagged on a deep crack on the pavement, sending her hurtling to the ground. She flailed and struggled to her feet, looking behind herself in time to see a small ginger cat run out of the alley, obviously startled by the sound of the two men running towards her. The movement had no sinister source. It had just been a c_at._

She was knocked to the ground again, but this time nothing caught her on her way down. Groaning against the floor in pain, forceful hands rolled her over onto her back. A silver blade was pressed against her bare throat. "Bitch broke ma nose! Fuucccckk!" she heard the first man shriek in a high pitched, exhausted voice as he hobbled over, still tentatively prodding the tender tissue. But she wasn't focused on the drunk any more, she was focused on the stone-cold sober rat-man glaring down into her eyes with unparalleled apathy. He shifted himself comfortably between her legs. "We were just having a bit of fun, girly, but you've gone really pissed me off now."

"Please, just let me go, I promise I won't tell anyone, I'll never come back down this street again I swear, I-"

"Here's how it's going to work. You're going to do exactly as I say: any quick movements and I'll drag my knife through your pretty guts, got it?" Sophie didn't reply. Her mind went numb. This couldn't be happening. "I'm going to let you sit up now, and when you do I want you to take off all your clothes for me. Any funny business and I'll stab you in your neck, okay? It'd be such a shame to butcher that lovely little asset of yours…whatcha think, Seth? Doesn't she have a pretty neck? Seth?" Seth had vanished into the blackness of the street. Only one street-light remained illuminated: the one directly above them. Even the surrounding flats and his precious bar's lights were smothered. It had to be a power-cut, right? But then why did one light remain?

Sophie yelped when a familiar voice, a voice she recognised but couldn't assign a name to, spoke gently: "Don't be afraid. The darkness is your friend."

The final street-lamp shattered, the light was killed. The bulb's dim orange glow died and it was pitch black. There was a horrifying scream, a scream that could congeal the blood, and the rat-man's weight was flung off of her. A sleepiness descended, and Sophie's eyes fluttered to a close.

"Sophie? Sophie…Sophie!"

"W-wha? What?" Sophie slurred, her vision still fuzzy as she shifted her weight on the ground to get a little more comfortable. "Sophie, it's me, Nathaniel, are you alright? Can you see me?" Sophie focused on the crouching man beside her in the white doctor's coat and the tight waistcoat. Green eyes met brown. It really was him. "What are you doing here?" she questioned in sleepy confusion. A small half-smile played about the corner of his thin lips. "Oh, so no thank you then?"

"Those guys…you saved me? What happened? Where are they? Are you hurt? He had a knife! Are you-?"

"Sophie, you have a concussion, settle down. You need to relax." Hesitantly and reluctantly she eased herself back on the ground. "Thank you. Thank you so much. But…what are you doing here?"

"Well you took off from the hospital so quickly I was worried for you," Pitch lied. "And thank the Gods I did." A moment passed. "Can I get up now? I just want to go home."

"Yes." Pitch helped pull her to her shaking feet and he allowed her to rest her body weight against him. "Nathaniel?" Pitch waited for her to continue, "Could you just…walk me home please? I don't want to go alone."

Pitch didn't like to admit it, but when he had seen her get attacked he couldn't help but feel a striking sense of compassion for the girl. Something clutched at his heart and he felt something akin to distress for her; urging him to step in. But perhaps compassion wasn't quite the right word. He didn't have feelings of compassion towards her, no, maybe it was closer to a sense of ownership. She simply wasn't there's to spoil. But still, he _loathed_ those wretched men, those derogatory animals. Disgusting brutish creatures. They deserved what he did to them for what they had tried to do to her. They made him feel sick.

"Of course." He whispered.

* * *

Awfully sorry for such a long wait, folks, I've been pretty busy (but in a good way!) over this week and I didn't have time to write. Also, I seriously thought at one point I may just have a deadly disease that was going to kill me within 72 hours. I went on a mini-holiday and the place I was staying at had this highly contagious disease floating around which I didn't even know about until I fucking got there. So when I started showing some symptoms on Friday night I was like "Holy shit I'm a dead woman walking: leave everything I own to my cats and delete my internet browser history." Turns out I just had a bad cold so hurrah! I'm still alive and can still write fanfiction (much to your joy/horror).

So Pitch came to Sophie's rescue! Ain't that sweet? Well, not really, it was more of a don't "don't touch my stuff" kind of thing, but still, the point stands, he saved her. So what did Pitch do to those douchebags? Are they maimed? Dead? Traumatised? Just let your imaginations take care of that ;) I know in my head what I'd have had Pitch do to them. Maybe in a much later chapter I'll reveal it, I don't know if it's more effective this way.

Next chapter will be up very soon guys and it's going to be a lot lighter than this chapter, so I'll try to update before the night is through.


	12. Chapter 12

Unlocking the front door to her apartment, Sophie stepped in, slipped her coat off her shoulders she threw it down into the corner. She took off her smart work jacket down to her spaghetti string top and shook her long blonde hair out, allowing it to fall more comfortably. She trod down on the heels of her black work pumps and stepped out of them, leaving them where they lay. She couldn't be bothered with tidiness tonight. Hovering at the doorway, Pitch spoke up "Now I've seen you back safely I suppose I'd better be off."

"What? No, come in for a drink, I owe you one."

"I don't really think that that is-"

"Nathaniel shut up and get in my apartment. I insist you have a drink." More in shock at her surprisingly dominant command, he stepped inside and let the door swing to behind him. He took a brief look around, finding himself mildly curious as to where the woman he had been tormenting lived. It was a neat little place, for the most part, and its smallness combined with all the little art pieces and nick-nacs made it quite homely.

He followed her straight into the kitchen. "What do you want?" Sophie said in an oddly rough tone. Pitch was intrigued. His petrified little Sophie hadn't spoken a word since they began their journey back to where she lived, and now, fear seemed to take a back seat whilst a delightful bitterness pushing on anger sat in the driver's seat. This would be amusing. "A cup of tea would be delightful."

"Nathaniel, when I asked you in for a drink, I meant a proper drink, what do you want?"

"What do you have?"

"Red wine, Rose wine, vodka or I have a couple of beers left in the fridge." Pitch paused and pondered his decision. He couldn't actually recall the last time he had drank alcohol. He couldn't remember ever drinking at all. But he remembered the taste, he remembered he liked it, so he had to have drank it at some point. Had it been before he was a spirit?

"A glass of red wine then, if you really insist." He chuckled as he watched Sophie buzz around her familiar surroundings, whipping a wine glass out of one cupboard above the work-surface and taking a bottle off a high shelf, forcing her onto her tip-toes. She poured him a generous amount and dropped it down with little grace onto the counter-top next to Pitch. She took a full bottle of Russian vodka off the same shelf and unscrewed the cap. She took a few unnecessarily excessive gulps before perching herself on top of a bar stool by the counter, her slim shoulders hunched. Pitch took up a seat on the bar stool opposite on the other side of the counter. It seemed to strike Pitch as strange to watch the girl he remembered as a tiny little ball of innocent, youthful energy actually d_rinking_. Often he still saw her as the little Bennett girl in the polka dot yellow, green and blue pajamas.

"You might want to slow down."

"You might want to speed up if you want to keep up with me." Sophie retorted, flicking her hair from off her shoulder and throwing her head back to take another gulp. "I understand you're upset about what happened, but-" Sophie let out a belt of laughter, "You don't say?" Pitch frowned. He was really getting annoyed at how often this girl interrupted him. "Look, Nathaniel, I just want to drink until I forget that this night ever happened, okay? You know better than any one right now that I'm not having a great time recently and, well, I think maybe all I need is just a nice…long…drink." She took another gulp.

There was long silence in which they sat and drank for a while.

A tiny flame of curiosity lit up in his mind. "Tell me, Sophie, what was your childhood like?"

"No. No way. You're not here to think I'm crazy and start analysing my mental state, you-"

"I'm simply curious. Cross my heart." He dragged his slim index finger twice over his heart. And he truly was just curious. Sophie hesitated. A lot of her childhood had revolved around The Guardians, if she told him that he'd definitely ship her off to a mental hospital. But didn't all children believe in The Guardian's at some point in their lives? She supposed she could tell him a few half-truths.

"I had a good childhood, a fantastic one actually. I grew up with my big brother, Jamie, and I had a dog and tons of friends. I think every kid in Burgess new each other in some way. We went on a lot of adventures, too. Most of them imaginary obviously, kids will be kids you know?" Sophie took a couple of deep gulps, wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, then continued. "Like most kids, I was a big fan of the holidays, Christmas, Easter and all that stuff. A lot of our imaginary adventures revolved around us meeting people like Nor-" _shit, Soph, use your brain _"-Santa, the Easter bunny, and the Tooth fairy and others. It was really fun." Sophie glanced over at Pitch who took dignified sips of wine while he leant on his elbows, leaning in and listening intently. He looked interested in what she had to say for once. Pitch forced a light hearted smile, "Yes, sounds like a lot of fun for such a small child. Although I am curious as to what kinds of adventures one could possibly go on with someone like the tooth fairy." Sophie's eyes lit up, and Pitch saw the enthusiasm and hope in her eyes he was trying so hard to stamp out rekindle in her eyes. "So many! So many adventures; in fact, this one time, me, my brother and half of the neighborhood kids teamed up with The Guardians-" _What did I just say about using your brain?_ "-uh, it's like a team name for when Santa, Jack Frost, the Easter bunny, the sandman and the tooth fairy team up. Anyway, we ended up fighting the Bogeyman and it was awesome." Sophie laughed.

Now she really had Pitch's attention. "Weren't you scared of the Bogeyman?"

"No, well, yeah, at first anyway, but we were safe with The Guardians."

"What did he look like? He must have been terrifying."

"I can't really remember, I was only two when my brother and his friends made up this game. I…remember a tall, dark man…like a shadow. Uh, that's how I _envisaged _him anyway." Sophie glanced over at Pitch who remained eyes narrowed and locked onto hers in what appeared to be deep concentration. It was a little unsettling. "Enough about me, tell me about yourself! It's unfair that you get to know private stuff about me."

"I'm not too sure you'd really want to know about _me_."

"Come oonnnnnn! It'll be fun! I promise." Pitch almost laughed aloud. It appeared Sophie was getting a little bit tipsy to say the least.

The night went on, and Pitch simply recounted to her a plethora of absolute bullshit he just yanked out of thin air. It was believable though, believable and interesting, but not too interesting. Making things up on the spot and improvising was something he was pretty proficient at. The almost empty bottle of vodka lay on its side and Sophie's eyes drooped while she rested her head on her hand. "Right, I think it's high time you go to bed."

"Awwww whhhyyy?" Sophie whined with her signature pout. "Because it's late and you've had plenty enough for one night, I think."

"Carry me?"

"No."

Sophie went to get to her feet, but her fawn like legs buckled and she would have fallen to the floor if Pitch hadn't caught her. Pitch growled in irritancy as he shifted her into a more comfortable position in his arms. Her head lolled back and she giggled as she was carried bridal-style to her room.

Using his left leg, Pitch kicked open her bedroom door and stepped inside, making his way towards the double-bed to drop her down. He leant over the bed and tried to release her, only to find, much to his distain, that her arms remained wrapped around his neck. He finally pried her off and she rolled away from him sleepily with a sigh to the other side of the bed. Pitch saw what was going to happen next. More by instinct to catch falling objects than by concern, Pitch threw himself onto the bed and grabbed her before she could fall out, pulling her back to the centre. He tried to move again, this time restricted not by arms around neck but legs around his waist. This was not good…"Sophie." He warned before looking down at the drunken woman beneath him.

Pitch couldn't deny that she was beautiful. Her long, tousled hair lying in disarray on the pillow framed her face like a golden halo. Her delicate pink lips were parted ever so slightly and those stunning forest coloured orbs gazed into his eyes as if for the first time. From her flushed rose cheeks, blushing from either drink or arousal or a combination of the two, he traced his gaze down her elegant neck to her pronounced collar bones. Her small chest rose and fell with each shaky breath. Her heart beat fast. Oh yes, she was beautiful.

_But_ she was little Sophie Bennett. _And_ he needed to break her into little unrecognisable pieces.

Oh, and she was rip-roaringly drunk.

"Sophie, now would be a perfect time to release me." Pitch growled out in annoyance. He loved the way she held her hands above her head on the pillow, arms bent gently at the elbow, as if she were surrendering. "Kiss me. Please." She breathed huskily. This was becoming increasingly difficult. "Sophie, you're drunk, you aren't thinking straight."

"All the more reason you should." She purred, her lips twitching up into a coy little smile. Pitch laughed darkly, "If you knew who I am you wouldn't have let me step one foot in the door, let alone…well…"

"Kiss me?"

"Yes." Actually, this could work out in his favour…

He let Sophie place both her hands softly on either side of his face and pull him into her by tightening her grip around his waist. Pitch, as he often did, had an idea. Sophie placed a gentle, tentative kiss on his lips and Pitch couldn't help but wonder what Sophie's beloved Bunnymund would think if he knew his innocent little Sophie was quite prepared to jump into bed with a strange man she hardly knew when she was drunk. Pitch envisaged the rabbit's face and it truly made his heart warm. Pitch was brought back to the task at hand when she bit roughly onto his lower lip, making him hiss in surprise. Pitch grasped the soft spot behind her kneecaps and she gasped out, "Nathaniel…"

"My name is not Nathaniel." He broke the kiss and began to pepper her neck with sharp little bites and kisses. She curled her fingers into his thick, black hair. This was a lot more fun than he thought it would be. "It…ah! It's not?" he brought his head up to her ear and whispered "Would you like to know my real name, Sophie? I'm sure you're _dying _to know. I'm sure you'll be _screaming_ it later." Sophie pulled him into an even deeper kiss, and between her little groans and gasps he made out "What…what is your name?"

Forcefully, he grabbed her wrists and pinned them to her sides. He sat up, his legs bent under himself and still positioned contentedly between her thighs. She looked up at him, and Pitch mentally ordered the image fade, letting his real self to claw its way to the surface.

Sophie blinked in confusion: ashen, silver skin, midnight hair, eyes made from precious melted metals, the shadows cloaked around him. All her memories of the Bogeyman came roaring back to life, fresh in her mind and the horrifying realisation of who Nathaniel Cross really was seeped in.

Pitch was right, she did scream his name.

* * *

Mwahahaha! Isn't Pitch a bastard? Now Sophie knows, things are only gonna get batter from here, folks, so all aboard the crazy train! Hope you enjoyed the past two chapters, feel free to let me know what you think and if you have any ideas.

**ravynedoom **thank you so much for the review, you made me one happy chappy! I hope I can continue to keep you hooked.

Sayonara, peeps!


	13. Chapter 13

Sophie's eyelids shattered open as she woke with a start, thrashing her limbs like a fox caught in a snare. Tangled in bed sheets she crashed to ground with a thud. She winced on impact. Moaning from beneath the sheets she slowly unraveled herself. Her eyes hunted around the room for any sign of…of Pitch Black. Yes, it had been him, he was back. She inwardly cursed herself: her sheer fear and shock had caused her to faint, his damned name still ringing round the room from her own mouth. Sophie's brow furrowed in disappointment at herself: wasn't fainting something that only pathetic, upper-class rich ladies did in the 18th century?

Her attention was drawn back to the empty room. Sunlight streamed in steadily through the window and she was undeniably alone.

A feeling like dark, thick liquid pooled in her stomach: what was she going to do? She had to tell The Guardians. But she couldn't, she couldn't for a number of reasons. First, was she sure she hadn't just hallucinated the whole thing? She was beginning to seriously doubt her mental stability. Second, would they even believe her? If he was really back, why hadn't he made himself known? And thirdly, and mainly in Sophie's eyes, how would she even go about telling them that Pitch was back and that she knew this because she'd invited him into her apartment for a quick drink and then into her bedroom where she…?

Sophie physically shuddered as she pulled her sheets around her and grimaced, _Oh God, why? What was I thinking!?_ She didn't think it was possible for her to feel any more ashamed or embarrassed. Even though she didn't know it was Pitch, she still thought he was Dr. Cross, _what was she thinking_? She suddenly noticed the burning sensation in her cheeks and she mentally swore at herself. She could not tell The Guardians, no, not under any circumstance. Well, not until she at least known for sure. But maybe that was Pitch's plan?

She glanced at her alarm clock. Sophie jumped to her feet when she noticed the time: it was 4 O'clock in the _afternoon_. She had a 6PM till 6AM shift! Her shoulder's slouched and she chewed into her lip. Nathaniel/Pitch would be there. What if he was plotting something? Would he try to hurt her? Find a way through her to The Guardians? She needed to be brave. She needed to march right up to him and tell him what was what, she needed to tell him to back off and crawl back into the hole he came from, she needed to tell him to never, _ever_ touch her again. She shuddered again. Creep.

After a long shower in which she envisaged again and again her confrontation with Pitch, she pulled on her favourite work outfit with confidence and chugged down a mug of coffee to keep her energized. She knew she was in for a long night. She set off for the hospital.

The sound of her slight heels on the floor clopped down the corridor as she walked with purpose towards the staff room. She yanked the door open and glared inside. Pitch was alone and sat on one of the comfy purple sofas: a cup of tea in one hand and what looked like a patient's chart in the other. Those brown eyes Sophie had found once so gorgeous glanced lazily up at her, and for a moment, Sophie began to doubt herself. _Abort the mission! It's only Nathaniel, just Nathaniel, you'll sound crazy! _Nathaniel began to speak, "Good evening, Sophie, I hope you've remembered you have a mentoring session with Daisy in half an hour, you wouldn't want to keep her waiting-" Pitch was cut off by a rigid finger being jabbed between his eyes while Sophie stood shoulders hunched in rage before him, "Listen here, you little shit, I know who you are don't you think I don't! If you don't drag yourself back down into that dingy little shit-hole you call a lair I'll get The Guardians to put you back down there themselves, you get me?"

Pitch pretended to be alarmed by her sudden outburst. Well, he was to a certain extent, he had not expected her to be so confident in her accusation; he had imaged it would take her at least a week of it eating at her before she tested him. "Wha-? Sophie, please calm down, there's no need to swear, and Pitch? The Guardians? Lair? What on earth had gotten in to you?"

"Don't you play innocent you, prick, I know exactly who you are. _I_ know and _you_ know." Pitch put on a mask of dread and dismay, "Oh, no, Sophie, please don't tell me you're having delusions? If you don't calm down I'm going to be forced to alert one of my colleagues about your, how shall we put it? About the little problems you've been having recently." Sophie stalled. Pitch mentally beamed. He knew just how to manipulate her. Then, unexpectedly, Sophie smiled, and Pitch suddenly didn't feel as confident as before. "I have proof you were in my apartment last night."

"I'm sure you can't, I wasn't there, whatever ever "proof" you have must be entirely fictional-"

"I have the bruises behind my knees. The marks from y_our _fingers. I noticed them in the shower." _Well Damn_, Pitch thought to himself, _maybe I shouldn't have been quite so rough._ Sophie continued, "You can't just _magic up_ bruises, you can't imagine them; they are stone cold evidence so you don't have a leg to stand on, you-"

"But you can make them yourself-"

"I checked." Sophie chimed, raising her hands in front of Pitch and wriggling her small, thin fingers, "Too big to be my fingers." Pitch stopped. Double damn. "Sophie-"

One of the other older doctors walked into the staff room, humming slightly to herself as she skimmed through a book she held up to her face in one hand. She became aware of the sudden silence; and the looks of intense distain from the pair by the sofa. "Am I, uh, interrupting something?" Pitch rose to his feet before Sophie, and she became acutely aware of just how daunting his height was when he was standing so close, "No, not at all, Dr. Sparrow, I was just leaving. I have some work to do and Miss Bennett should be heading off to find Daisy." Pitch bowed his head in departure, "Dr. Sparrow," he said with forced respect, he locked challenging eyes with Sophie "Miss Bennett." Pitch sauntered over to the door and left.

Sophie got up and followed. She would leave him alone. For now. He couldn't avoid her forever, and she had the whole night with him.

* * *

Boom, I'm back! Once again, apologises for how late this is, I've had so much Uni work to do and my manager's being a bit of a knob lately so I've been a wee bit stressed. At least I've finally got round to submitting this chapter, eh?

It is going to be a _very _long night for Sophie, and little does she know, Pitch does have a breaking point and she may just make him snap.

Thanks for the reviews everyone and thanks for the new fave and follow, **Cailet**, glad to know new people are hopping on board and reading this shit.

I promise I'll update soon, guys! Lots of love from this here Brit!


	14. Chapter 14

It was 10pm; the time in the hospital when everything quieted down. After Pitch shovelled a pile of paper work he certainly was not going to do onto the desk where Sophie kept all her work, he left the office and found himself back in the long corridors. A deep, troubled scowl hung about his features. He had hoped to keep stringing Sophie along, making her doubt herself, making her wonder if he was really good Dr. Cross from England or the evil King of Nightmares. But what stung Pitch's ego the most was that it was his own error, not hers, that led to her true assertion that he was indeed Pitch Black. Oh did that sting: like salt on razor blade cuts.

But it didn't matter, although the path had changed, it still led to the same end for Sophie. Even though Pitch revelled in subtlety and the dramatic to get his work done, he had come to accept that sometimes hitting hard and fast was the best thing to do. But he'd have to lull her into a false sense of security first, yes. Sophie was smart, too smart, but he could easily work on her fragile emotions. He could make her believe he was wounded, a harmless damaged waif who had lost most his powers, who wouldn't and couldn't fight The Guardian's again if he tried. Pitch began to smile again. Yes, that could work out in his favour…

Pitch's line of thought was interrupted by a short, sharp, "_You!"_ from Sophie who stomped towards him with a face like a threatening thunder cloud. Pitch raised his hands in the universal sign of meaning no harm and bowed his head, "Sophie, I-"

"Pitch Black!" She spat the words out of her mouth as if spitting out vile tasting venom. Pitch's expression became darker as he met her poisonous gaze "Sophie, not here, people could pass and we could possibly wind up waking up patients. If we must speak, we should do it in private." Sophie stalled in front of him, her anger still coiled like a snake within her stomach. She hated to admit it, but he had a point. But on the other hand…private was dangerous. Could she trust him? Certainly not. But she had very little choice. "Fine." She growled walking past him. At first, Pitch could hardly believe his luck, it _can't_ have been that easy to subdue her. Then he heard her voice ring out behind him: "Pitch!" Pitch turned on his heel to face her with a bored look on his face. She held open a supply cupboard door, "Get in."

Pitch bristled at the dry order he had received. He was a _King_ for pity's sake, no one told him what to do. But he would indulge her; for his own benefit of course. He strolled over and stepped inside, pulling a small white string to set the single light-bulb glowing. She stepped in after him and slammed the door.

Pitch narrowed his eyes and a playful smile played on the edge of his lips, "This is comfortable." He purred. From the dire look on Sophie's face she was obviously in no mood for games, so naturally, he would play. "Tell me Sophie, you aren't going to kiss me again are you? I don't think-" Pitch was rudely interrupted by a very hard slap round the face, his head pushed to the side by the force of the impact. He hadn't been hit like that in while. His cheek stung, but it was nothing compared to the wonderful sight of that shade of pink he loved so much seeping into Sophie's cheeks as she flushed with embarrassment. She opened her mouth and then shut it again, before stuttering, "I was drunk! I was upset and drunk! And if I would have known it was _you_ I…I…" Pitch raised a brow, clearly amused by her fidgeting. Sophie stopped talking, and instead chose to bury daggers into Pitch with her eyes, her lips pouting the way they always did when she sulked. Pitch let his head loll back as he laughed, brushing a hand through his hair as he slouched against the wall, "Oh, Sophie, Sophie, Sophie! I didn't even dream that playing with you would be just this much _fun_!"

"I'm not here for your fucking entertainment," Pitch rolled his eyes violently at her word choice, how many times did he have to tell this woman his view on swearing? "You're going to tell me what you're doing here. Right now. No jokes, no lies. Why. Are. You. Here?" Right. Pitch would need to put on one hell of an act for this-a truly spectacular performance.

Pitch's face fell as he let out a deep sigh, "Must I really tell you the truth?"

"Yes." Sophie whispered. _Let the show begin…_ "I have nowhere else to go." Sophie's light brow furrowed as she cocked her head to the side, "That doesn't make sense. You can go anywhere in the world, you can even go back to your lair, just anywhere but here." Pitch let out a gentle, empty laugh, "You really don't know how much of a toll my battle with The Guardians took on me, do you?"

"Everything they did you deserved." Sophie spoke harshly but steadily: a matter of fact. Now for some truths, the best lies are always half-truths. "Where do you think I've been for eighteen years?" Sophie narrowed her eyes in confusion, "Uh, sulking in your lair after the Nightmares dragged you back down there?"

"I've been tortured day and night by the very things I created; no breaks, no gasps for air, nothing. Nothing but pain and suffering. My existence has been a living _hell_. I thought I'd surely go mad if the suffering didn't end. There were moments…there were moments I questioned my immortality; I thought, surely, I couldn't survive the agony any longer. And then there were the moments I wished I wasn't immortal." Through the mask of desolation and remembrance Pitch wore her he watched as Sophie's lips parted and her eyes widened in a beautiful picture of shock and pity. Pitch smirked on the inside: exactly as planned. Sophie shook her head from side to side as she clenched her fists. She couldn't believe that…at least she didn't want to. This was _Pitch Black_ she was talking to! "No! She barked, "You deserved just what you got! And you lost because you were wrong, you were wrong and weak!"

Pitch's ego reeled from the blow and he snarled, dropping his façade as his true identity crawled back into place, revealing the King of Nightmares. He took a step forward and Sophie took one back, pressing herself against the wall as her heart began to pound in fear. Pitch suddenly became aware of his anger. He needed to rein it in, pretend he was meek and harmless. Pitch gasped in fake pain as he let the mortal Nathaniel step back into place, holding his chest and doubled over slightly. Sophie visibly eased up a little, a slight whisper of concern in her eyes. He knew he could play on her natural kindness and gentleness. "I-I'm sorry-" Pitch choked out, breathing heavily. Sophie took a reluctant step forward, and had to resist the urge to reach out and help the man who looked in pain. "What happened to you?" She whispered, hoping the answer would be different this time. Pitch looked up at her sadly, "I already told you. After all those years I've lost most of my powers. I wouldn't even be at the hospital if it wasn't for the fact that the little doses of fear from this place are keeping me alive right now. I just want to rest. I want nothing but to rest for a while."

"But why did you scare me? Why did make me think I was going mad? That elevator stunt you pulled scared me half to death!"

"Exactly! I'm so sorry Sophie, but I was just so weak I…I needed a shot of fear. I just need to fix a few injures…" Sophie was clearly at war with her emotions: her anger and hatred for him for what he had done to her burnt bright, but his tragic story and his tragic story-telling had tugged at her heart-strings. Her kind and caring nature pulled through, as it always did. "Fine. Stay. But I want you out of here as soon as you can, you get me?"

Pitch nodded his head slowly. "I'll do as you say." He murmured.

Oh, this was far too easy…

* * *

Another chapter for you lovely folks, and Pitch continues to be a phenomenal dick.

In answer to your question, ** .Shipper, **as far as pairings go, there sort of isn't one in this fic. I wanted to include the fact that Sophie had a crush on Jack when she was 16 to make her a little deeper as I wanted to show she has a past and has grown up over the years. With the Pitch thing? Pitch likes spiteful fun and dramatics and he knows that Sophie does find him attractive (although she also hates his guts) so Pitch is going to do his darndest throughout the fic to make her feel uncomfortable for his own amusement!

Thanks for reading, everyone, look after yourselves and have fun out there!


	15. Chapter 15

Sophie couldn't be happier that the weekend had finally arrived. She needed the release like a kite needs wind to fly. Most of all, she needed to get away from Pitch; and certainly to stop thinking about him.

But for Sophie this was far easier said than done.

It was 4am. Sleep eluded her. She found herself at her desk, lost in paper, immersing herself in a write-up of the progress some of the children had been making over the past week. She wondered what Pitch was doing at the hospital right now. _He_ wouldn't be asleep, that was for sure; he was a creature that belonged to the dark, he lived for the night. Did he even sleep at all? The Guardians certainly did; she assumed he must sleep some time or another. She frowned and rubbed her temples. Concentrate. Back to work. To Sophie's dismay, Katie didn't seem to be showing any improvement at all; she was eating better, true, but her depression seemed to have worsened. Maybe she should run through changing her antidepressents with Dr. Towle? If standard Prozac was losing its effect, maybe switching to Citalopram would help? Although she'd prefer to try her luck further with her cognitive behavioural therapy on Monday…wouldn't Pitch be joining her on that again? She actually rolled her eyes when she recalled how he had called her "Karry" instead of Katie. Sophie began to grind her teeth as the memories from that day seeped back like black water into her mind. That was back when Pitch was Nathaniel. No wonder he'd got her to do all the talking: he hadn't a clue about psychiatry. "Urgh!" Sophie sharply growled aloud, burying her head in her hands with narrowed eyes, _Just stop thinking about him!_

There came a knock at the bedroom door.

The hair on the back of Sophie's neck stood on end, her breath snagged in her throat. It wasn't him. It couldn't be. But he did know where she lived; she had made sure of that. He wouldn't have been able to get through the front door. But he could. He was a spirit, he could do as he damn well pleased. Walls were nothing to him.

"Sophie?" Sophie jumped at the sound of her name, but was relieved by Jack's concerned voice. "Jack? Come in, please, you didn't have to knock." The door opened and Jack drifted in, floating on the air with a gentle half-smile as he explained himself "I saw your lights were on, and your kitchen window was open…again. You know, I'm beginning to think that you're leaving that window open as some sort of dog-door for me." Sophie didn't breathe a word, she just gazed at him with her shoulders sagging. She was just so relieved it wasn't Pitch. "You okay there, Sophie? You're looking a little pale?" Sophie's eyes snapped back into focus, "Huh? Oh yeah, sure, you just startled me is all." She lied as best she could. She wasn't use to telling lies, it simply wasn't in her nature, but Pitch had injected her with the ability to do so.

Jack floated over to the bed and dropped himself down into the middle, legs crossed and eyes set on the mountain of work on her desk. "Work at this time? It's a Saturday, Soph, time to relax and have fun."

"I know, but when something needs doing, it needs doing." Jack's snowy brows furrowed at his twitchy friend who appeared to be looking everywhere around the room except at him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yep. Never better." Sophie quipped. She wanted nothing more than to pour her soul out to her friend, tell him everything that had happened, get him to get Pitch away from her, but she couldn't help but feel that he was in the room. Not in a literal sense of course, but the unspoken words of truth between them left in her mind an image of Pitch watching her with illuminating eyes from under the bed, chuckling silently to himself in that dark way he always did.

"Good. Then in the morning you'll be ready to take a trip to the North Pole, right?" Sophie's large eyes widened visibly. It never failed to make Jack grin when he watched the eyes that were already too big for her face widen even further, "What? J-Jack I don't think I have the time right now to be-"

"Come on, it'll be fun. You can do all this another time."

"But I can't, it has to be done." Jack jumped to his feet with a grin. "Seriously, Soph, when was the last time you had fun. Really?" Sophie paused bringing a finger to her bottom lip as she frowned. "Catch." Jack called, giving Sophie enough time to look up and reach out for the fluffy white ball that he'd thrown towards her. She caught the snowball gently in her hands and then hurled it back to Jack who promptly ducked out the way. The snowball hit the wall. Sophie was left unsatisfied: she needed to have another snowball fight with him, her aim was all off.

She also needed to get away from all the stress that had been building over the past few weeks. Maybe this could get Pitch out of her head?

"Fine. I'll do it. I'll visit the Pole with you tomorrow."

* * *

Hello again, everyone.

After the seriousness and gloominess of the past few chapters, I'm going to write a couple of uplifting ones with all of The Guardians making an appearance. I feel the urge to write something cute and soft with Sophie and Bunnymund.

To clear it up, **darthcat**, nothing did happen between Pitch and Sophie on the night she got drunk; when she discovered "Nathaniel"'s real identity she screamed his name and was so terrified she fainted as "_She inwardly cursed herself: her sheer fear and shock had caused her to faint, his damned name still ringing round the room from her own mouth."_ Pitch left so when she woke up she'd be alone and would be left questioning if he really was there or if she was going mad. But you are right, it could have been clearer. I've developed a habit of publishing the chapters "hot off the press:"as soon as I finish, I publish which can sometimes lead to silly mistakes or things that could be explained better. It's something I've actually got to stop doing (but I'm eating my words right now as I've just finished writing this and I'm publishing it straight away anyway :L I'll stop doing it though, I swear!)

Thanks for reading, guys!


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